Separation. This ripping apart of oneself. This tearing of something that was once one. It feels like - agony, emptiness, void. It makes breathing deep impossible. Or it makes you focus on your breaths, which are never enough. This pain, is as if part of my heart is cut off, or just gone.

This has felt fresh recently. I had felt more myself for the last months. More like Anna. Now I feel more like Anna-and-Trevor ripped open, again. I have felt his absence in delighting over our animated daughter, who turned 3 yesterday. I have felt his absence in parenting our son, whose sweet heart is full of fears, and needs someone to wrestle him until he feels settled. I have felt his absence on his side of the bed, which is now full of pillows and our kitten, these nights. I have felt the ache of having him adore me in the mundane and fancy, even though I know his love never ended. Oh I miss seeing him in worship, worshiping with him in abandonment. I miss his hands, and fingernails and eyes, and all of it. It has felt so fresh, so unbelievable, these last few days, that I have had trouble sleeping. And with that, equal trouble wanting to wake up some mornings. A few days ago, I laid in bed, rebelling that it was daytime. I did not want to get up. I did not want to see people that day. I did not want to function. I was too sad.

- I’ve been there - I felt God say. -I’ve felt separation like this. -

God - Who was always One, inextricably interwoven since before the beginning of time. The definition and source of covenant community inside Himself; Father, Son, and Spirit. God - ripped himself open, and tore His own heart and being in two. He who was always One allowed Himself to be separated, so that we would never have to be separate again. The Father looked away from His Son, and the Son cried out! “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?!” The Son chose to take sin, which literally just means separation, upon Himself. And the Father choose to let Him - so that we would never have anything between us. The agony of this splitting of the source of love turned the sky black at midday. It tore the thick temple veil right down the middle, the veil that had separated humanity from the Holy.

But there, in my bed, before 6 in the morning, with kids awake and ready to start the day, with my guilt rising for not wanting to get up with them, my heart rebelled against even this. Alright, God. This did rip your heart open. I’m sorry for that. But this separation was only for three days. It wasn’t the rest of your life. It wasn’t your partner in raising your kids for the rest of their lives. It was short: doable. You haven’t felt this. And then, I felt Him nudge back. What about the separation He has felt from His treasured children who don’t want to know Him, for millenia? What about those He loves and wants to hold tightly in His big arms, who have felt and still feel separated. What about longing for a bride that adores Him back. A longing that has gone on for thousands of years. Yes. He understands separation. An agony of separation that was strong enough for Jesus and the Father to plan the separation of the cross. And He is with me now. In my bed, then wiping little bottoms, feeding hungry kids, making coffee, and getting out the door. With me. So that I am never alone.

I have felt this presence right when I’ve needed it, dozens or hundreds of times these last two years. But it’s like it’s new. It’s that nudge, or presence around my shoulders, or kick in the pants that I need every single time. And I was still heartbroken as a drove an hour to church. And I was still aching when we sang in worship (always wanting more!), and when the man spoke about this very same truth. He recounted the story of the cross, and the darkness at noonday, and the agony of the Father being separated from the Son, so that we can always be close. I cried hard as we sang again. And the ache did not go away as I had lunch and shopped with the kids, and went to a wedding shower. But. He was with me. My heart was heavy and full. Grieved and rich with joy. Like dark chocolate. Full of bitter and sweet. Because He is with us.